A Simple Affliction
by ohcEEcho
Summary: What caused Jack Merridew to fall into ruin? What if something happened which changed the course of events on the island? SLASH JackRalph RogerSimon and others.
1. Chapter 1

A Simple Affliction

**A/N: My first Lord of the Flies story. I'm not sure how to work very well, so the format might be dodgy or something…some helpful hints would be nice I'm a bit of a technophobe. Any strange spelling is probably due to my stubborn resolve to remain staunchly British… no offense meant.**

**Summary: What caused Jack Merridrew to fall into ruin? What if something happened which changed the events on the island?**

Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies belongs to Don't sue, you'll only get a half empty jar of old fashioned jelly babies.

Warnings: Nothing really. Can be read as slash, but it isn't really…I think. What do you reckon? Slash or no?

Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.

The story is told from the points of view of many of the characters, so it may be a little confusing at times. Apologies!

**Chapter 1**

Jack plunged his sheath knife into the hard packed earth with a strangled yell of frustration. What were the wretched creatures, psychic? He knew for sure it could not be he who was the root of the problem. He was as silent as a cat, perhaps quieter. Besides, even if he had been heard, he was fast enough to catch any pig at a run. So why, then, had he not come across a single one of them? Bad luck, maybe. Simple bad luck.

He wrapped calloused, knuckle torn fingers around the hilt of the knife and wrenched it out of the ground, chest heaving with anger rather than overexertion. Bad luck. That must be it, yes, only luck would dare defy him like this, if such a thing existed. Yes. An anomaly, a slip up…nothing to do with him. He was sure that the weather at midday the previous day had been very similar to now, so it was not the climate. Jack sniffed the air experimentally. A salty breeze, aromatic plant life and the heat of the day. Nothing unusual.

He sat, crouched low on the ground, and listened intently, the sounds of the sea now mere background noise. Blocked out, he had grown so used to it. Far away he could hear a few littluns charging around the underbrush, ripping through the foliage, delighted cries seemingly sinister. Even further came a hint of crackling wood and the hoarse tones of smoke being blown out to sea by a stiff eastern breeze; the mountaintop. The lazy murmurings and scurrying footfalls of those taking a break by the bathing pool or lying on the platform beside it.

Jack's head snapped to the side at the sudden interruption of the unmoving stream of repeating noise by the distinct sound of something substantially heavy colliding with the sun beaten ground, then a loud exclamation, the scrambles and rustlings of moving bodies…then nothing. A slow, lazy smile curled the edges of his lips as he identified the source of the noise; a small indent of trees within the edges of the forest between the border between beach and foliage, in a sheltered cove on the side of the island which housed the platform and bathing pool.

He knew at once who it was, of course. He could now identify most voices from a considerable distance, and this was no arduous task. Voices, he had found, had particular lilts and accents which, if not studied, could not be differentiated between. He, however, had dedicated many hours of eavesdropping to perfecting this particular skill. The hushed, grating tones of Roger and the biguns, the high pitched, scurrying tumbles of the littluns. Piggy's rambling squeal, Simon's wispy mutterings, Ralph's scarce but nevertheless definable tones of reason.

The further away the harder it was, of course, that was simple logic. But this particular chorus was produced not so very far away, only a few leaps down a pig run and through the underbrush and he would reach the offenders. He already knew who they were, obviously, but what was the fun in letting bygones be bygones?

With two sharp cracks and the creaking of unsure adolescent bones suddenly grinding awkwardly into gear, Jack sprang up and raced with practiced ease through the underbrush, weaving through the thick, intoxicating tangle of life without sparing a thought. He wondered as a branch whipped through his overly long and tangled hair whether he would have to adjust his perspective soon; he had already grown considerably since their arrival on the island, and discovered to his horror that having excess flesh in the way of grasping branches was not the best way to adjust to change.

Breaking free of the smothering darkness and emerging into a large clearing beside the sandbank which marked the beginning of the shore, Jack came to a screeching halt to two sharp cries of surprise, and smirked; turned to greet his foreseen disturbers of the peace and straightened up, squinting at the bright sunlight seeping through the leaves.

"Sorry, ladies. Didn't mean to burst in on your little tea party here."

Ralph, recovering from the shock of the hunter's sudden appearance seemingly out of nowhere, flushed with indignant anger.

"You shut up, Merridew! You got no right, scaring us like that. Besides, Simon could have dropped the trunk again."

Ralph gestured to a sweaty and weak-kneed looking Simon, clutching feebly to the end of a jaggedly torn tree trunk. Ralph hastily reached for his own dropped end, cheeks still flushed slightly pink, and straightened up, wincing at the weight and the serrated bark digging into his fingers. Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Looks like you managed well enough without my help." He observed sarcastically, taking in the two boys tanned, sunburnt skin and the many scratches and gashes scattered all over every bit of exposed flesh. His eyes swept up to examine Simon's hair plastered to his forehead, and the bruised crescents below Ralph's eyes accented by flushed cheeks. Their eyes, however, were defiant and angry.

"We should try again, Ralph." Simon's hushed, slightly scratchy voice broke through the uncomfortable lull. "A little higher."

Jack watched with trepidation as they maneuvered the trunk down to rest in their arms above the elbows, then painstakingly pushed it upwards before letting it fall precariously against a nearby palm tree. He took in their shaking legs and the blood marring the stark cream of the exposed bark, and his eyes narrowed as they let it go and stood slumped against the trunk, panting and heaving. Simon bent on one knee and attempted to catch his breath.

"Need some help, ladies?"

Ralph raised his head from the bowed position it previously occupied, and glared at Jack with a bitter resentment, and Jack started at the sudden unveiled exhaustion which hid behind his gaze. Their supposed leader seemed so weak, beaten, more in spirit than body, although that was pretty beat anyway…and instead of sneering, Jack felt a sudden jolt in his stomach and a heavy weight press his chest, constricting his breathing. For some reason, he hated that look, in Ralph's eyes…that tiredness, world weary…and decided he would do all he could to keep from seeing it again. He feared for himself if he did.

"Not from you, _Merridew_."

Jack noted vaguely the use of second name, Ralph's way of voicing his displeasure subtly. Said boy turned to Simon and smiled tiredly.

"That's…good, Simon. First shelter standing, second half done…just a bit longer, now…"

He closed his eyes and reached up a clenched fist to rub at them irritably, in a surprisingly childish manner. It reminded Jack of a child who had stayed up far past his bed time, and snorted. Ralph was no child.

"Hey, maybe you two should take a break. The others-"

A sudden hysterical laugh broke Jack off, and his eyes widened as Ralph doubled over in seeming gleeful amusement. He frowned at such a reaction to what he saw as an attempt to keep the peace.

"The others! The…they…"

Ralph doubled over once again, a weak encore of giggles failing to escape, and Simon carefully ducked under the trunk to stand beside the chief, concerned.

"They don't give a damn…nothing…no fire, no rescue, and we'll never…I don't…"

Ralph trailed off, the smile slipping from his face to be replaced with a distinctly heartbroken look, staring through Jack in a very unnerving way. Simon tentatively put a hand on Ralph's shoulder, and he jumped, letting go of the trunk as he did so. Jack saw, as if in mocking slow motion as the trunk rocked, then teetered on the edge, then descended at gathering speed towards the two boys.

"Watch out-!"

The words burst from him as he dived at them, arms outstretched, and Simon let out a sharp gasp as he moved aside. Ralph, however, did nothing but sway a little as Simon's supporting hand was removed, still gazing at a point far away on the horizon. Jack grimaced and closed his eyes tightly as he made a mad grab for the immobile boy's waist and brought them both to a crashing halt on the ground, an echo of the trunk mimicking them painfully close.

There was a short silence, as Jack's ragged breathing slowly quieted and Simon's hurried footsteps sounded unevenly. Jack opened his eyes and sat up, eyes unfocused, before glaring down at the boy beside him.

"You idiot! Why the hell didn't you move?"

Ralph stared up at him now, not passed him, with a still strangely distant air to his eyes. He blinked and smiled slightly, and Jack started.

"Why…?"

Ralph gave a weak chuckle, chest heaving, before lapsing into a coughing fit. Jack whipped around and jerked his head, indicating Simon to join them. Simon scrambled over and sank to his knees, shaking slightly. He stared from Jack to Ralph, eyes wide but lids drooping slightly.

"How long have you two been doing this?"

Jack asked quietly, menacing, to Simon; Ralph was hardly in a state to be answering an interrogation. He had not moved from his crumpled position where he had landed, unmoving besides the slight rustle of his hair in the breeze. Simon raised a slightly confused gaze to Jack and frowned.

"Two…three days? The others were here, but…"

He trailed off, watching with apprehension as Jack drew his own conclusion and turned slowly to send a look of utter revulsion towards the distant sounds of the bathing pool. He turned back to take in Ralph blinking hazily up at he and Simon, a slight crease in his brow evidence he was still with them, but barely. His body went rigid as he tensed in rage, teeth clenched, and a hand immediately fell to his belt where his knife rested.

He stood slowly and turned towards the bathing pool, glancing back briefly to give a last parting order to Simon.

"Stay with him."

Before setting off at an unnaturally fast sprint through the trees, who seemed to sway apart in dismay. Simon closed his eyes wearily and sank to his knees once more, hands clenching and filling with warm, coarse sand.

There would be hell to pay, if Jack had his way.

**A/N: So, should I continue? If so, next chapter will be in Roger's POV. Like? Hate? Review and let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

A Simple Affliction

**A/N: This chapter is in Roger's POV. He is a little bit…weird…so it's not my dodgy writing, I just tried (probably unsuccessfully) to capture the way I think his mind might work. I hope you enjoy!**

**Summary: What caused Jack Merridrew to fall into ruin? What if something happened which changed the events on the island?**

Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies belongs to Don't sue, you'll only get a half empty jar of old fashioned jelly babies.

Warnings: Nothing really. Can be read as slash, but it isn't really…I think. What do you reckon? Slash or no?

**Chapter 2**

Roger's lip curled in disgust as he watched the other boys gallivant around the glistening surface of the pool, flumes of crystalline water rising and falling above it's natural surface. The arrogance…disturbing the quiet, the natural order of things. Oh, yes. He would make them pay for their offenses, make them see, soon. Very soon. But for now…he would merely watch, and wait. It wouldn't be long for the perfect moment would present itself, and he would strike. The perfect vengeance for the island.

"And just what the _hell _do you think you lot are doing?"

Roger turned his head slowly to watch as Jack towered over the offending partners in crime, who now sat or lay frozen, water still crashing and swaying around them. The air seemed to be holding its breath, as though it alone knew the outcome of this particular development…and judging by the now petrified silence, it was not going to be a particularly pleasant one.

Well, excellent. Roger was just beginning to get bored, and a bored Roger was certainly not something to be desired…as he usually had to find _other_ forms of entertainment for himself, which for some reason only he found amusing. It was really quite annoying, to be honest. Not that Roger was, of course. Honest, that is. In fact he was an excellent liar. He recalled one time when he had-

"GET OFF YOUR LAZY ARSES AND GET OVER TO THE CAMP, **NOW!**"

Ah, now this was what Roger hated. Being interrupted mid-ramble. Most inconvenient, and extremely rude. It was unfortunate he needed Jack in the grand scheme of things, or so he had been told…personally, he couldn't see any potential purpose the overly loud obnoxious fool could serve, but appearances could be deceiving. Look at Henry…was that his name? It had taken an alarmingly long time for him to surrender to the lack of oxygen and stop spasming beneath the water of the lake…very inconvenient.

There was a sudden flurry of movement, and Roger sighed resignedly as he too moved to join the throng. At a sedately pace, of course. Any type of unnecessary rushing to anything in life was most uncivilized. It also tended to give the wrong impression to any unfortunate person who may be observing you. He idly examined the dusty and crusted scabs which decorated his knees with the utmost distaste, but due to a certain aversion to having his own blood running down his leg, he had to tolerate it.

"Trouble…in paradise, Jack?"

The red head started, and swung round, hand immediately flying to his knife. Good, fast reaction, Roger noted. But not fast enough. He held up his hands and approached with deceptive wariness. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pig, glasses flashing, approach unsteadily…or should he say wobbled? Jack, belatedly, also noted, but did not acknowledge Piggy's presence.

"Now see here, what's the big idea, shouting like that! You don't even have the-"

"Bollocks to the conch, Fatty, we got bigger problems!"

Jack turned away and stalked back towards the hurrying throng of boys, reminiscent of the first time the choir had crossed the beach, and the group increased its speed at Jack's bellowed order. Roger raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed at the sense of authority exerted by Jack.

"Hey, shouldn't you be-HEY!"

Piggy's unfinished question was lost amid the cloud of dust which rose at Roger's feet as he moved away, disinterested, halfway through the other boy's sentence. Piggy huffed indignantly, and followed behind, wondering briefly what all the fuss was about.

Roger entered the clearing to hear Jack halfway through a tirade against the now cowering group of supposed hunters, mainly members of the choir, and smirked. Perhaps there was yet potential in the red head…more so than any other, anyway. All other candidates who vaguely possessed the needed intelligence were either too self righteous (Ralph) too timid (Simon) or simply too fat (Piggy). Not that Jack was that smart, anyway, but smart enough, and easy to manipulate. Yes, Jack would have to do.

Speaking of which…

"-BUNKING OFF WHEN THE SHELTERS NEED PUTTING UP, OR YOU COULD BE HUNTING-"

Ah, yes, hunting. Jack's recent obsession, and ongoing pastime, or job, whatever you wanted to see it as. More like an excuse to get attention, if you asked Roger, not that anyone did, and not that he would deign to answer- but that was beside the point.

"-GET OVER THERE AND GET THOSE SHELTERS UP!"

At last, the rant was over. Roger tapped the side of his head lightly to rid it of the ringing which echoed around it, then froze, noticing Simon's pale and staring face from in between several frenzied bodies rushing to help with the construction of the shelters. He grinned, back teeth leering awkwardly, and ducked out of sight to watch the proceedings from the shadow of the trees.

He watched Jack's progress over to the shade beside the bank of sand by the beach, and for the first time noticed the huddled black figure sprawled beside it. He approached round the back of the trees, eyes fixed on it, squinting, before he realized it was a boy lying on one of the old choir robes, now dirty and disheveled but nevertheless of adequate comfort to rest on.

He strained every sense to overhear the conversation, watching avidly.

"Well?" Jack asked of Simon, who was leaning over the figure who could only be Ralph (who else would Simon even be seen near?) with a concerned expression, sweeping back the hair from his forehead and peering down at Ralph's pale yet flushed face. Simon looked up.

"Sleeping, I think. He's okay, really. Just tired."

Jack grimaced, then glared, straightening up and bearing down over Simon, who, stoic as always, wasn't fazed.

"Was I asking?"

Simon frowned, staring unblinkingly up at Jack, an air of calm patience surrounding him.

"You wanted to know."

Jack snorted and turned away, eyes snapping to the forest surrounding the clearing, and for a moment Roger suspected he had seen him, but though better of it. He listened intently, moving closer, and could hear the rattling in Ralph's chest as his uneven breathing eased weakly in and out.

Interesting.

"Can you shut him up? Give him some water, or something." Jack paused, as he turned away to take charge of the shelters "you stay with him."

"How can I get him water and stay with him at the same time? I can't carry him."

Roger almost chuckled. The question was reasonable and practical enough, but then again reasonable and practical were not concepts Jack understood too well. Jack growled and flung himself down next to the immobile boy.

"Fine, I'll stay with him, but you sure as hell better be quick!"

Simon scurried away swiftly, knowing without pause for thought where the nearest source of water was. Roger watched him go, then turned to watch Jack deal with the uncomfortable task of watching over his supposed 'rival'. It was quite comical, really. Every time Ralph made a sound or shifted in his sleep, Jack would jump and edge away slightly. When he reached a distance of two feet he had to drag himself back, watching Ralph warily as though he would attack him. Roger grinned, amused.

As if the little runt would stand a chance in a fight against Jack. Too tender hearted, really. He wasn't incapable of doing damage, he just didn't know how. He only knew how to talk. Words, words, words…was that all he had to offer? Weak. Pathetic. Roger would see it through, he swore to the Lord he would. And the Lord of the Flies grew angry when promises were broken.

He said he would speak to Simon, the Lord told him. Roger hoped it would be soon. Turning his wandering attention back to Jack, Roger sauntered over with the air of a person who had only just arrived on a scene and wished to receive an explanation. Roger silently praised himself on his acting skills.

"So, Jack…what's going on?"

Jack started, to Roger's amusement, and he bent down to the hunter's crouched position in order to hold decent conversation. He smirked down at Ralph, mockingly patting the sleeping boy's head lightly.

"Aaaw, was it all too much for our darling little chief?"

Jack smiled tightly, and Roger gauged the others reaction with interest. So, Jack still held some sort of loyalty to the runt. How interesting. A window for exploitation may well be called for. He suspected it might well be.

"You ever hunted?"

A subtle change of subject, and Roger pulled a slightly curious expression onto his face with little effort. Deceit was one of his forte's, his greatest, in fact. Coupled with manipulation. He answered with what he knew the other wanted to hear.

"Not as well or as much as you. Why?"

He hated to speak so much, but it was necessary to establish a position of confidant with Jack. He watched Ralph's movements out of the corner of his eye, conscious of the danger presented by the chief becoming even partially awake and alert. Jack seemed to accept the reply with grace and swiftly change the subject once again.

"We should finish the shelters by nightfall, with all of us." Jack said, non-commitably. Roger frowned in feigned confusion.

"But not all of us are helping-look at Fatty, over there…"

As Roger had expected, Jack immediately leapt to his feet and marched over to berate Piggy on his insolence. He smirked, waited until they were both facing away before swiftly grabbing Ralph by the shoulders and turning him onto his stomach, before applying light pressure to the small indent between his shoulder blades and the cardriactic nerve below his collarbone. He silently sent a sarcastic thanks to his mother for being a nurse.

As predicted, the sleeping boy immediately began to cough.

"What are you doing!"

Roger's head snapped up, and he released the pressure in surprise, but left his hand where it was, and hurriedly pulled a look of innocent surprise onto his face. The change did not go unnoticed by Simon, and Roger silently cursed his own momentary lapse in guard. Simon knelt beside him, knocking him sideways with a carefully placed knock of his shoulder and muttering an unfelt apology. He placed the small half bowl of water down on the sand and turned back to Roger, who stiffened almost imperceptibly.

"Just checking he hadn't suffocated."

Roger shrugged, uncaring, and stood to lean against a nearby trunk, watching Simon with a piercing gaze. Simon tore his gaze away and turned to his charge, and Roger watched with interest as Simon gently helped Ralph to drink a little water. He snorted derisively.

"No point, really. He's gonna die, anyway."

Roger turned to once again retreat into the quiet sanctuary of the forest, and stopped as he heard a last parting word from Simon.

"I'm watching you."

He smirked, not bothering to turn back to face the smaller boy.

"I was counting on it."

**A/N: 00 Roger scares me. Simon POV next, I think. If anyone can guess what's up with Ralph, let me know! I want to see if anyone gets it…even if not, please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

A Simple Affliction

**A/N: I LIVE! (cringes) Sorry, my deepest apologies to you. I was obligated to focus on my Narnia fics, and they turned out to be both time consuming and, well…rather long. SORRY!**

**Summary: What caused Jack Merridew to fall into ruin? What if something happened which changed the events on the island?**

Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies belongs to William Golding. Don't sue, you'll only get a half empty jar of old fashioned jelly babies.

Warnings: Nothing really. Due to demand, I've decided to make this light slash. Nothing beyond a bit of kissing, really.

Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.

The story is told from the points of view of many of the characters, so it may be a little confusing at times. Apologies!

**Chapter 3**

It was strange, or so Simon thought. The way things went in this place. Things were so disorderly, at least, from a conventional perspective…and yet, there was still a seeming natural order which dictated everything on the island.

"Something wrong, Simon?"

Simon shook his head without looking at Ralph, who continued to stare at him with an intense gaze. Eventually, Ralph sighed, and shifted uncomfortably, turning back to drawing in the sand. It was a sweltering, humid day, and the pungent smell wafting idly through the trees was almost intoxicating.

"So, Jack took charge after…well, he took charge?"

Simon nodded. Following an uneventful night, in which Jack had, indeed, taken charge and managed to get at least two more shelters up, Ralph seemed to be on the mend. True to Simon's word, it had been simple fatigue which had plagued Ralph. Or so it seemed for now.

Ralph lifted his head, eyes roving over the newly erected shelters and the now deserted camp. His brow furrowed over dark eyes, which grew steadily darker.

"Hunting now, I suppose?"

Simon nodded once again, and licked his dry lips nervously. The air seemed suddenly thick. Ralph's hand had clenched in the sand beneath his palm.

"I should be thankful. That he got them to work, I mean. More than I could do."

There was a bitter tone to Ralph's voice, and Simon wondered at the diversity of the course of time. He felt like he was caught in a dream; no, a nightmare. A nightmare over which he held no control.

"Don't…"

Simon began, and Ralph turned to look at him, waiting. Under those dark eyes, Simon's resolve faltered. He shook his head, swallowed thickly, and Ralph sighed. A salty, coarse sea breeze lifted his fair hair and tossed it gently about his tanned face, giving him a suddenly wilder appearance.

Simon shivered.

"Hi! Ralph!"

They both turned to see one of the biguns, Maurice, if Simon recalled correctly, making his way over. From his sopping appearance, dark hair plastered to his forehead, he had just returned from bathing.

"You alright now, then, Chief?"

Ralph nodded absentmindedly, not looking up from the sand. He seemed engrossed, embellishing patterns upon patterns, gazing down as though it held the secrets of his wildest fantasies.

Maurice looked to Simon, quirking an eyebrow, and Simon shook his head in bewilderment. He glanced over Ralph's shoulder at the scrawlings. Most of it was, at least, to Simon, illegible, but some he could just about decipher.

Words (names?), and strange shapes. What looked like trees, and the vague shape of the island. Fire. Burning. Simon's eyes widened, seeing what appeared to be the head of a pig, on the end of a stick. Trailing swirls, meant to represent blood? A fat shape, perhaps a person, beside a large rock.

"What _is _that, Ralph?"

Maurice asked, cocking his head to the side as he, too, leant over to inspect it. Ralph started, and blinked, seemingly surprised to find them there. He flushed, colour creeping across his tanned cheeks, and abruptly swept the sand clean with a single movement.

"Nothing. Just…no, it's silly, really. It's nothing."

Ralph glanced up at the sky, drawing a long, deep breath through flared nostrils. Simon studied his face, recalling a very much younger, softer looking boy he once knew. Ralph's fair hair had grown longer, but unlike the other boy's, he kept it swept out of his face. His skin was darker, his hair lightened, and his eyelashes (rather too long, Simon thought, for a boy) had been bleached by the sun.

He was, admittedly, still the cleanest of all the boys. He also refused to rid himself of his shirt; some sort of reminder device, Simon supposed. To remind him of…before. Before the island.

Maurice shrugged his shoulders and, disinterested, turned about and wandered off along the beach back towards the bathing pool. Simon watched him go, lost in thought.

"Simon."

Simon snapped back to reality, as he felt Ralph's brittle hand clench his shoulder. He glanced up, confused, and saw Ralph's darkened eyes wide with an indefinable emotion. He followed the Chief's line of vision, up, high up, to the top of the mountain.

"Do you see any smoke?"

Simon squinted, searching against the obscurity of the clouds above them for the swirling mass of smoke which was surely rising from the summit. His eyes narrowed, and he scanned the blue bowl of the sky for some movement, anything.

Beside him, Ralph chuckled bitterly.

"I hoped it was just my eyes, but…there isn't any, is there?"

Simon shook his head, swallowing thickly. There was a wild, almost ferocious burning in the depths of the elder boy's eyes. Sinister, unnatural.

Simon licked his lips nervously, and began to speak:

"They-"

"They let the _bloody _fire out."

Ralph cut him off brusquely, rising to his feet with neat precision. Simon scrambled up with rather less grace, and reached out to clasp Ralph's arm, then thought better of it.

Unable to think of anything else, Simon muttered a rather uncertain:

"Yes."

Suddenly, Ralph was meters ahead of him, sprinting across the stretch of beach and weaving with practiced ease between the huts and fallen trees. Simon gasped, and rushed to follow.

"Ralph!"

Simon felt again, that piercing feeling, in the base of his skull. He snapped around, to see a pair of gleaming eyes, dancing with malice, and a face overcast with shadow. Right beside him, hidden just beyond the lip of the trees.

Simon could feel a shudder run up and down the course of his spine, as Roger slowly emerged from his hiding place, a languid smile curling his thin lips. He halted just inches away from Simon, hands fondling a long, sharpened spear.

His smile fell.

"So it begins."

Simon tore his gaze away, and ducked around Roger, intent on reaching Ralph before he got to…Jack, he supposed. A hand closed around his wrist, and abruptly jerked him back.

He winced as he found himself face to face with Roger, so close their noses were almost touching. Roger's hot breath spilled over Simon's cheeks, and Simon shivered as Roger leant around and hissed a ghosting whisper against his ear, his fists clenching in Simon's shirt.

"You can't stop it, you know. You can try. Oh yes, you can try. But in the end, they'll all fall. Every single one of them."

He drew away, smiling a delirious leer.

"Fall to the Lord."

Simon stumbled backwards, rubbing a hand over his crumpled shirt, smoothing it. He swallowed, feeling his ear tingle with Roger's lingering breath against it.

"I won't."

He said, quietly, before tearing away from the other boy, feet slipping over the sand as he searched the foliage desperately for any sign of where Ralph had gone.

Things were changing. Fast, too fast.

He blundered on, through the undergrowth, over thickets, the sharp twigs slashing at his face and clawing at his torso like demented hands. Finally, he cleared the forest, and reached the base of the incline up to where the fire was.

Or should have been.

He frenziedly began his ascent, scrambling up, his heart pounding feverishly against his ribs, his thoughts in turmoil. He had never felt so…chaotic. Like Roger's mere presence had thrown him into…

He didn't know.

_They will all fall, every single one of them._

But what did that mean? Fall into what? What did Roger know, that Simon did not?

Simon froze as he heard chanting, the beating of hands against bare skin, raised voices. Coming nearer, out of the forest. It was rhythmic, and somehow…savage.

He shuddered, turning once more and increasing his pace up towards the remnants of the fire.

Whatever was to follow…you could be sure it would not be easy. For any of them.

But that is what it is; to be human.

**A/N: A hint of slash for you, in there. I prefer to build things up gradually! Next chapter, Ralph POV, I think. He and Jack experience a few…(cough) problems…**

**This fic began at the beginning of the chapter 'Huts on the Beach' in the actual book, and the storyline changes from there. It may still follow the general structure of the book, or not. What do you think?**

**If anybody is actually still reading this (my hat off to you if you are) please review, and let me know if it's worth continuing…**

**Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

A Simple Affliction

**A/N: Wow, a nice response! Thanks so much! I had this chapter already written, but didn't want to post in case the last one wasn't well received…enjoy!**

**Summary: What caused Jack Merridew to fall into ruin? What if something happened which changed the events on the island?**

Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies belongs to William Golding. Don't sue, you'll only get a half empty jar of old fashioned jelly babies.

Warnings: Nothing really. Due to demand, I've decided to make this light slash. Nothing beyond a bit of kissing, really.

Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.

The story is told from the points of view of many of the characters, so it may be a little confusing at times. Apologies!

**Chapter 4**

"Kill the pig, cut her throat, bash her in…KILL THE PIG, cut her throat, bash her-"

Ralph could feel his already pounding head begin to ache with renewed vigor as the continuing rhythm grated against his nerves. He watched through slightly blurred vision as Jack and his hunters approached, bearing the carcass of a freshly caught pig.

It hung on its back, neck split across and spilling a steady trail of blood, mouth hung agape emitting a silent scream. Ralph shivered, unconsciously wrapping his arms around himself.

"-throat, bash her in! Kill-"

He gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away, instead listening to the steady approach of beating feet upon the hard packed earth. It was practically midday now, the sun burning defiantly right above him, beating down. He felt compressed; pressured on all sides by an insurmountable weight.

The ground had begun to sway languidly beneath him, and he felt suddenly seasick.

"RALPH! We did it! We killed-"

Raised, excited voices joined the chaos which addled his mind, and he winced as horrific, painted faces swam before him. The heat of the day must be getting to him, he thought.

"Ever so big! We crept up-"

"Circled around!"

"I got it first, with a spear! But it fell, and-"

"She ran, blundered!"

"And then-"

A tentative hand touched his arm.

"Ralph?"

Ralph turned his head, blinking, trying to dispel the blur which impaired the edges of his vision. He vaguely registered Simon's pale, concerned features, and felt suddenly relieved. The fit of fever must have passed, them.

"We killed a pig, Ralph! You see?"

Ralph started away as a heavily painted, cruelly demented face appeared before his eyes. He stared, and for a moment thought he had gone truly mad. Then he recognized familiar, shining blue eyes in the face of a savage. Jack?

The immediate issue resolved, he returned once again to the matter at hand.

"You let the fire out."

Jack faltered in his feverish excitement, and spared a single glance for the now scorched remains of the fire. He shifted uncomfortably, and then a grin spread across his freckled face once more.

"Oh. Well…it was only out for an hour or so. And we needed lots of us. You should have been there, Ralph! The pig-"

Suddenly, the turmoil of voices struck up again.

"It was huge!"

"We circled around, then Jack-"

"I cut its throat! There was…blood, everywhere…"

Ralph looked down at the corpse of the pig, lying bulbous and starkly real quite close by. He hadn't noticed where they'd put it. The voices continued to press in around him, and the ground swayed ominously. He lowered his head, and stared down at his own wrist where Jack had grabbed it in his enthusiasm.

It was sticky with globules of blood, slick and hot against his bare skin. He felt suddenly light-headed. Dizzy.

Simon took his arm once more, firmer this time, and Ralph steadied himself against him, hastily wiping his blood soaked hand on the side of his shorts.

"Ralph? Are you-"

"Shut up! You shut up, Merridew, and all you others!"

Immediately, all heads had turned to regard a shining faced Piggy, who stormed unevenly over to them. The hunter's fell slowly silent, a toxic anticipation filling the already breaking tension.

Jack strode forwards, hands clenched in sudden glee.

"Who gives a damn what _you _think, **Fatty**?"

Piggy puffed out his already bloated chest, and his mouth snapped open with a ready retort. Ralph drew a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the pounding ache within his mind increase tenfold. The voices rose higher and higher, growing more and more angry.

"They…they let the fire out…"

Ralph licked his dry, chapped lips and took an unsteady step towards the bickering pair. Simon came with him, and Ralph shook his hand off irritably.

"You let the fire out!"

His voice sounded broken and hoarse, even to him, but it had the desired effect. All the attention of the crowd was now upon him, and the voices once more died away to fading whispers. He drew himself up to his fullest height, and noted, with some aggravation, that he was now shorter than Jack by about an entire inch.

Jack must have changed, grown, since they had first arrived.

Jack's clear blue eyes turned slowly to regard Ralph own honey brown ones, guarded. There was a short pause, as Jack slowly lowered his gaze, and looked from the dead fire, to the dead pig.

Ralph saw him swallow, and draw himself up just as Ralph had done. A strange conflict of emotions seemed to be raging within his eyes, and Ralph was glad. Within the face of that savage, Jack Merridew still looked out from behind the mask.

"But it was only for a little time, Ralph. And we got meat, so we can eat properly now. But I…"

Ralph frowned as Jack faltered, and wiped his bloodied hands subtly on the sides of his shorts. Ralph felt his mouth quirk in the tiniest hint of a smile, and Jack, seeing this, blundered on.

"…I apologize, nonetheless, for letting the fire out."

There came an upheaval of approving mutterings, and many of the boys looked to Jack with renewed respect for his courtesy. Ralph, himself, could not help a growing sense if respect for the other boy for taking responsibility. He nodded, trying to find the appropriate response in his still blurred mind.

"Well, I…"

He hesitated, and Jack grinned that lopsided grin. Ralph smiled sheepishly back, and they both laughed, as Ralph searched for the needed compromise to make their truce complete.

"Alright, then."

Immediately, the tension eased, and excited chattering broke out as the crowd turned away to begin cutting the carcass up. Jack rubbed the back of his head, then extended his other hand to Ralph, who took it, and they spoke quietly over their bond.

"I got carried away, I guess. Yesterday, when you…well. I should have consulted you. I'm sorry."

Jack squeezed his hand gently in sincere apology, and Ralph felt a sudden searing pulse of…something, run up his arm and creep across his spine. He swallowed, feeling blood rush to his cheeks, and abruptly pulled away, clearing his throat.

"That's alright. I probably overreacted, anyway-and it was a good kill."

At that, Jack's grin grew impossibly wide, and he opened his mouth to speak, when a second voice rose above the mutterings.

"Now wait just a minute, you-!"

Jack whirled on Piggy, and Ralph winced, feeling the lightened ache return with a vengeance.

"You shut up, Fatty!"

"I got the conch! Ain't I, Ralph? I got the conch! Let me speak!"

Ralph said nothing, and instead sat abruptly down on a nearby overturned log, a hand clutching his head. He gritted his teeth as face span once more before him, and he vaguely registered Simon once again placing a concerned hand on his shoulder.

"We need the fire, if we're gonna be rescued! Ralph! Tell them!"

Ralph said nothing, and heard the slap of flesh on flesh as Jack shoved Piggy backwards.

"Don't you start bringing him into this, Fatty!"

Piggy, indignant, looked desperately to Ralph, who felt indecision plague him.

"Ralph's chief! He has to!"

Jack only grew angrier.

"What the **hell **do you know!"

"I got the-"

"SHUT UP!"

There was a sharp whack, and Ralph shot to his feet as he realized Jack had hit Piggy upside the head, sending his glasses careening towards the edge of a sharp, ten foot cliff.

"Jack, stop! Stop it!"

Ralph grabbed Jack's raised wrist, staring pleadingly into the darkened eyes of a savage. He gasped, and abruptly let go, moving away. Jack frowned, and the darkness in his face faded, to be replaced by confusion and hurt at Ralph's fear.

Meanwhile, Piggy knelt at the edge of the cliff, staring at the broken lens in his glasses with livid disbelief.

"Me specs! They're..."

He turned his head sharply, and his voice grew louder and louder as he continued to rant at Jack.

"You and your hunting, Jack Merridew! Just wait! JUST YOU WAIT!"

Immediately, the savage had returned, and Jack shot forwards, roaring with riled anger.

"YOU THREATENING ME, FATTY!"

Ralph's eyes widened in horror as Jack's fist shot out, and Piggy started, drawing closer to the edge of the cliff. Too close.

"Jack, **NO**!"

Ralph wasn't sure quite how he ended up in front of Jack, nor did he feel much pain as the other boy's fist collided with his chest. He felt only a vague surprise as he was thrown backwards, beyond Piggy, and the ground gave way beneath him.

"RALPH!"

The fear in Jack's voice was his only comfort as he slammed awkwardly into the ground ten feet below. There was a sickening crack, utter agony, and then nothing but darkness.

**A/N: You didn't think I'd let the 'let's all be happy and at peace' last, did you? (evil grin)**

**In the book, it seems to me that in this scene, Jack was angry that Ralph was not impressed by the kill. In fact, earlier on, he thought of how pleased Ralph would be if he got them meat.**

**Suspicious, hmm? (winks)**

**Comments would be appreciated! Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

A Simple Affliction

**A/N: The inspiration for Ralph's injury came from the 1963 film of Lord of the Flies. During production, the boy playing Ralph (James Aubrey) fell ten feet off the cliff by the fire set and fractured his ankle. **

**Strangely, in the later 1990 version, the boy playing Ralph (Balthazar Getty) broke BOTH his wrists. It seems the part may be cursed…O.O**

**Summary: What caused Jack Merridew to fall into ruin? What if something happened which changed the events on the island?**

Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies belongs to William Golding. Don't sue, you'll only get a half empty jar of old fashioned jelly babies.

Warnings: Nothing really. Due to demand, I've decided to make this light slash. Nothing beyond a bit of kissing, really.

Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.

The story is told from the points of view of many of the characters, so it may be a little confusing at times. Apologies!

**Chapter 5**

Jack had never actually properly hit anyone. A few angry knocks, maybe, sometimes in self defense, sometimes not. But never with completely malicious intentions.

And certainly never to kill.

He had _wanted _to **hurt** Piggy, for the tiniest fraction of a moment. Wanted to _kill _him, rid him from this hellhole of a world. Wished with all his heart for the fat freak to stumble and fall, like a ton of bricks, down, down, and to grin sadistically when he heard the melodious squelch of flesh on rock.

It was quite different, sickeningly so, when Ralph fell instead. And Jack finally knew what real fear felt like.

He vaguely heard himself call the fallen boy's name, and found himself rigidly frozen to the spot, unable to move. Ralph's honey brown eyes, wide with shock, fear and perhaps a little hurt, were imprinted upon the forefront of his mind's eye.

"I…I didn't mean…"

The crowd had rushed forward, staring over the edge of the cliff, but Jack couldn't bring his legs to move. Instead, he swung abruptly around, molten fear filling the pit of his stomach like lead. He swallowed, his thundering heartbeats choking him.

Just ahead, Jack could see Simon hastily swing himself over the edge of the nearest way down he could see. The cliff was not sheer, nor was it even that high; only about ten feet. But it was enough. Just enough.

Jack glanced back at the onlookers; at Piggy, for once shocked into silence, still seated on his fat behind, clutching his glasses. A few scattered littluns were huddled together, crying quietly, as though mourning. Jack felt his stomach give a nasty jolt.

He raised his head, and met the intense gaze of Roger; who was leaning lazily against a nearby rock. The other boy's face was almost completely impassive, besides a slight furrow to his brow.

"Simon? Is he…?"

Maurice, of course. Maurice was one of the few besides Ralph, Piggy and Jack who had the courage to speak his mind. He was only about a year younger than them, and one of the eldest of the biguns.

There was a tense silence, then Simon's strained voice called up from down at the bottom of the cliff.

"He's breathing, I think."

At these words, it seemed the spell was broken; and Jack spun about, hurrying over to where Simon had climbed down. He kept his eyes determinedly focused upon the rocky crevices which littered the path down the cliff, refusing to look towards the inevitable until absolutely necessary.

He could feel their gazes upon him now, burning into the back of his head like the midday rays. He swallowed thickly as his feet hit the bottom of the cliff, and stood still, before he turned sharply around.

Simon had knelt beside the fallen boy, and Jack could only see a shock of fair hair, crimson liquid solemnly pooling beneath it.

He felt the sudden urge to retch, but hurried forwards nonetheless, slowing as he drew closer. Ralph was pale. Far too pale, even with darkened skin bronzed by the sun. Jack stood behind Simon, who was gently lifting Ralph's head with the air of one handling a corpse.

"I don't think his skull's fractured. Just a bit bruised. Skin's broken."

Simon murmured, more to himself than to Jack. Jack frowned as he eyed the fallen boy's body up and down, feeling suddenly cold despite the heat of the sun. Ralph looked almost like he could be sleeping; fair hair resting lightly on flushed cheeks and long, bleached lashes casting deep shadows.

Jack swallowed; why, he wasn't sure.

"He might have concussion."

Simon lifted Ralph's head up into his lap, the better to look at the apparent gash hidden in his hair. Jack felt a stab of an emotion quite unlike guilt, or anger. Before he could define it, he dismissed it with grim severity. It raised too many questions. Questions he didn't have the answers to.

Suddenly, Jack gasped.

"Is…his foot meant to be twisted like that?"

Simon's head snapped up, and he glanced down at where Jack was hunched over Ralph's left foot. Gingerly, Jack reached out to touch the blemished flesh. Ralph's foot was twisted at a slightly odd angle, a raised swell in his shin beginning to bruise terribly.

Jack touched the bruised area, then drew back as Ralph made a strangled choking noise, and his dark eyes flew open, seeming impossibly wide for his pale face.

"Hold him!"

Simon grabbed his arm and pulled him down to where he was sitting, and abruptly placed Ralph head on Jack's lap instead. Jack felt heat rush to his face, his arms limp and useless by his side, as Simon scrambled over to inspect the injury.

Ralph whimpered as Simon began to probe the bruise, clenching his eyes tightly shut in a grimace of agony. Jack glanced at Simon, who briefly met his gaze, and indicated for Jack to hold Ralph down.

Jack swallowed.

The sound Ralph made as a horrible snapping sound broke the languid silence was inhuman. Jack gritted his teeth as he gripped the writhing boy's shoulders, feeling Ralph's sharp shoulder blades dig into his fingers. Ralph tossed his head from side to side, a single angry, pain filled tear slipping down from eyes clenched tightly.

"Got it."

Simon sat back, several shades paler, and Jack waited for him to explain himself. Ralph slumped down against the ground the moment Simon moved away, trembling weakly.

"What did you do?"

Jack asked, voice coming out sharper than he had intended.

"It had snapped right out of place. Had to put it back as soon as possible, or he wouldn't walk again."

There was a silence.

"Idiot. You shouldn't have done that."

Jack murmured to Ralph, and Simon flinched almost imperceptibly.

Jack gave him a severe look, looking back down to Ralph, who was staring up at him confusion. He stiffened, as Ralph seemed to study him, frowning, and Jack didn't move as the fallen boy slowly raised a hand to touch the red paint around Jack's eyes.

Jack was frozen with shock as soft fingers slowly, meticulously wiped the paint away, smearing the mask to make way for freckled skin. Once both eyes were clear of paint, Ralph allowed his hand to drop, wincing as it collided with the hard stone. He then narrowed his own honey brown eyes, roving over Jack's face once more.

"…Jack."

He muttered, almost too quietly to hear, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped into Jack's lap, unconscious. It wasn't a question, merely a statement. As though he had expected someone else.

For a long moment, they simply sat, he and Simon, as the hordes of boys cautiously made their way down the cliff and gathered around, avoiding Jack's gaze. Muttering soon began, and Jack vaguely listened, eyes affixed on Ralph's face, which looked almost peaceful now.

"Is he alright?"

"He's…he's not dead, is he?"

"Jack pushed him. Why, Maurice? Jack's Ralph's friend…"

"SHUT UP!"

Jack roared at the offending littluns, which squeaked like a petrified piglet and hid behind Maurice's shirt. Jack scowled around at the faces, all shades of pink, and abruptly began to bark out orders.

"Everybody, back to camp. Maurice, gather the littluns together by the platform. You…Robert, is it? Get some clean water from the river. Roger, I'll need some fruit."

While the hustle and bustle grew around them, Jack beckoned to Simon, who crawled forwards to hear what Jack was saying over the chaos.

"Simon. Is he all that bad? Besides the leg?"

He tried to keep his voice casual, but even he could he the uncertainty in his tone. Simon shook his head slowly, biting his lip until it turned white, glancing up and down Ralph's beaten form. For some reason, Jack's grip tightened on Ralph's shoulder.

"No…I…don't think so. Besides a bit of bruising, nothing else is really bad. Besides a smack to the head."

Jack glanced up, to see a small huddle of littluns right beside them, staring at Ralph with a sort of revered, horrific awe. Jack scowled at them, and they huddled closer together.

"What're you looking at? Get to the platform! And the rest of you! NOW!"

Jack carefully slid his knees out from under Ralph's head, keep a hand supporting his fair hair. Ralph stirred slightly, but otherwise did not move. The chattering died away as the boys hurried to the platform, filtering slowly into the darkness of the trees.

"Shouldn't we build…a stretcher?"

Simon asked timidly, wary of Jack's testy mood. Jack frowned, glancing about for sticks, or a large sheet of something. Finding nothing, he eyed the bruised injury once more and barely repressed a shiver.

"No time for that."

He muttered, very gently sliding one arm under Ralph's knees and the other around the small of his back. He grunted as he hefted the limp body up, wincing as Ralph's head lolled against his neck, his fair hair tickling his collarbone.

He tried to ignore Ralph's uneven, shallow breathing against the exposed skin of his neck as he began to walk at a brisk pace, Simon hurrying to keep up. A sudden, loud exclamation made his breath hitch and he slowly turned around, mindful not jostle his burden.

"Just see what you done now, Merridew! Just see what you done!"

Piggy's words hit home, as the fat boy stumbled over perilous undergrowth and almost fell. Jack's convulsively tightened his hold on Ralph, glaring over the top of the boy's head coldly.

"I can see perfectly well, Fatty."

He eyed Piggy's glasses, perched precariously on the tip of his nose, one lens now shattered and sharded.

"Unlike you."

**A/N: So, good? Bad? Too much fluff, not ENOUGH? Review and let me know what y'all think!**


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